Matchmaker
by Your Local Witch
Summary: RonViktor challenge. Hermione asks Ron to do her a favor... and Ron begrudgingly complies. Mild slash, oneshot.


**Matchmaker**

A/N: This is my first Ron/Viktor fic, and I wouldn't have even written it had it not been for MikeyPikey's brilliant suggestion:D I offered to write something in exchange for some nice Neville icons that he made for me on one of my roleplay journals... so, I'm sorry it's total crap! Yes, this is a one-shot, but it has an epilogue. Well, without further ado, here it is, Mikey's Challenge!

"What do you mean you can't see him off?" A note of panic almost crept into Ron's voice. It had been a while since he had seen him, and they hadn't exactly been the best of friends...

"Ron, I'm telling you, this is very important, otherwise I wouldn't go! Do you know how long I've been waiting for this convention? Practically since S.P.E.-"

"Yeah, yeah, practically since 'spew' started. I've heard it."

"Good. Plus, he's expecting someone to see him off, and if I can't get a hold of him to tell him, who else will go that he recognizes?"

"Try Harry, maybe?"

"Oh, Ron, he's busy enough as it is! Notice that he doesn't have the week off, like you do!"

"So? Don't you have other friends?"

"Yes, Ronald, I do, but you happen to be the only one of them that Viktor is familiar with."

"Oh, Ronald now, is it? Why not just use my middle name, if you're getting cruel?"

"Fine then. Ronald Bilius Weasley, I request that you see Viktor Ludovich Krum off from-"

"I didn't mean it literally! Really!" He gave an exasperated sigh, but was somewhat amused to know that Krum's middle name was Ludovich, then became annoyed that Hermione actually knew his middle name. She had always known Krum better than he had. "When and where?" His voice had resigned to a bitter and begrudging dullness as he grabbed a well-used pencil off the counter, prepared to scribble something on the calendar. He could practically hear Hermione smiling with smugness over the phone line. He scribbled the address and time, and dully responded to her thankful sounding farewell. "Yeah, bye." He muttered, roughly placing the receiver down on it's cradle. Honestly, that girl had no sense of other people's agendas and personal affairs! he thought indignantly. Not that he actually _had_ anything to do, really, but still! Taking his off-time away from him all for some silly Equal Rights for Elves benefit! He sauntered bad naturedly out of the kitchen of the flat and into a short hall, off of which was the bathroom and two bedrooms.

He, Harry and Hermione had decided to move into the comfortable London flat less than a year out of Hogwarts, which seemed somewhat problematic at first. On the wages that the three made as Aurors (and low-rank ones, at that), it was a wonder they managed to pay their rent each month. Still, it was good for Ron to actually experience independence. Learning to live on his own paycheck (besides making him grumpy) was giving him an idea of how hard his parents had to work to support such a large family on Ministry wages. Despite the fact that he shared a room with Harry, living there gave him a sense of freedom and pride that he couldn't ever feel living at the Burrow. He stopped in the middle of the hall, staring at the large, antique framed mirror that hung there. Luckily, this one was not magicked in any way, so he could survey himself without fear of being called 'vain' or 'awfully concerned about appearance, aren't you?' as he had by a few in various wizarding establishments.

He snorted at that notion, now as he stared at his own reflection appraisingly, not quite pleased but not exactly disgusted with it. He was still incredibly tall in comparison to most men, but had grown into his frame a bit better since Hogwarts. His arms were still long and slender, but they had firmed up quickly after the first few months of Auror training. The flaming orange hair that he used to wear short and conservative by default had grown, and he had just left it as it was. It was almost long enough to gather into a really small ponytail, not like he would have bothered doing that, anyway. As much as he idolized Bill (though he would deny it if asked), he wasn't looking to be a carbon copy. His frame, otherwise, was pretty much good looking. Auror training had given him a new physical awareness, and the job nearly forced him to be constantly fit. Most of the Aurors were. Ron looked himself over once more, making sure the grey t-shirt and blue jeans were all in order before getting bored and wandering back into the kitchen.

His socks slipped on the tile floor a bit as he passed by the calendar and the phone on its hook. He shot the calendar a small glare. _He doesn't need someone to be there while he Apparates home... He's a big boy, I'm sure, and can do it himself..._ his mental grumbling didn't cease here. He leaned against the counter, bored and thinking. If it had not been for his loyalty to Hermione, he probably would have just pretended like he had forgotten the date, or something. He imagined all of the excuses he could use, maybe something like; 'Oops, so sorry, Hermione! Just slipped my mind!' He discarded the idea almost immediately. He couldn't imagine saying that to her- to almost anyone else, but not to his best friend. He threw a glare at the date again, not wanting to blame Hermione for this inconvenience, but was running out of things to blame. He briefly cursed the fact that he was such a Gryffindor before setting about making some tea out of sheer boredom. And boredom, he decided, was an evil, evil thing.

It was this Gryffindor loyalty that kept Ron from staying in bed the day he was to see Viktor off, though he was sorely tempted to. Seven was far too early to be up for him, but then again, it was probably just this off-time screwing up his internal clock. It was his own mule-like stubborness, however, that kept him grumbling about it as he stumbled out of the empty bedroom that morning. He found Harry in the kitchen, wide awake but looking weary, the circles under his eyes a dead giveaway that he hadn't been getting much sleep. He had come home after Ron went to bed the night before. He was clutching a cup of coffee, his latest addiction, and standing in the small space between the table and the counter. The Prophet was spread out on the tabletop before him like a map, and Harry studied it intently, green eyes roaming it meticulously, seeming to block out everything but the page in front of him. Bleary eyed, Ron bad naturedly threw himself into a chair. Harry raised his eyebrows at his friends early appearance, startled out of his reading. After the surprise wore off he addressed his friend with a bit of a smile.

"Up early for having the week off, aren't you, Ron?"

Ron shook his hair out of his eyes and glared, grumbling something about 'stupid Quidditch players' and 'Hermione's bloody elves,' along with some more half coherent nonsense. Ron was never fully articulate in the morning, Harry knew, and pushed his cup of coffee at him generously. Ron seized it grumpily but didn't pick it up from the table, still glaring at nothing in particular. Harry checked his watch, and watched as Ron took a slow and unsteady sip from the coffee cup. It was these small acts that had really proved that their friendship was permanently cemented- Harry would never offer his cup to say, Seamus, or one of the other people from school. It was just how it was for he, Ron, and Hermione. The friends were beginning to forget where one ended and the other began.

Harry folded the Prophet and also pushed it towards Ron, who ignored it, still staring at nothing and clutching the steaming mug. "I'm off to work now, alright?" He figured Ron had some sort of errand to run, but didn't ask. He probably wouldn't have gotten an adequate response, anyway. Ron, a tad bit more wakeful now, looked up at Harry and offered him his cup back. Harry shook his head. "I'll just get some at work. The Ministry's always overflowing with caffeine at this hour, anyway." He gave a weary smile as he picked up his well-worn rucksack (briefcases were too professional looking for Harry) and dissapeared with a wave and a pop.

Ron blinked at the space where Harry had been a moment before, rubbed his eyes groggily, then, as if just remembering it was there, looked down at the coffee. After contemplating the blue mug for a moment as if it was a scrying pool, he took another swig, this one larger, and thunked it down, ignoring the slight spattering of drops on the table and his wrist. He blinked again, slipping into wakefulness no matter how reluctant he was to do so, his stomach grumbling in protest at the sudden hit of the hot coffee and no other substance. As he stood up and proceeded to search desperately for some adequate breakfast, he noticed the calendar and the death sentence scribbled on today's date. _Saturday, May 17- see krum off from flat, 9 am. _Now that he was awake, he remembered precisely why it was that he was awake, and scowled. _Who Apparates that early, voluntarily? _He couldn't help but think. Then another thought occured to him,_There must be some sort of time-difference, _but he decided to have the good grace to disregard it. He looked back at the calnedar, the indifference settling on his face, a look of half poutiness, half boredom. It was classic Ron.

After he had satisfied his hunger by finishing leftvovers of the pasta they had eaten for dinner the previous night, he paused at the entrance to the hallway. Well, it looked like there was no way he was going to get out of going at this point. Nothing to do now but get dressed and go.

* * *

He smiled, fingering the peice of parchment that his owl, Haukur, had just left on his kitchen table. The familiarly neat and even cursive on the letter was unusually rushed this morning, he noted, but she had a reason to be rushed. Not only was today her big benefit, her chance to break onto the elf rights scene, it was also the day that their plan went into action. Hermione had confirmed it nearly a week earlier- and he had certainly been happy then. This was merely the preliminary message that begged him for details afterwards and told him what to expect, and he was now feeling considerably happier. Satisfied, for certain, he couldn't resist letting a small bit of smugness creep into his smile. So it was going to work.

It must have been Viktor's smug Saturday.

* * *

Uncertain of where he would end up if he Apparated to the exact address, Ron figured he would aim for just outside Viktor's building. Luckily for him, he only had to use two memory charms and one _reparo_ to make up for his lack of thought, before hastily jogging up the steps to the entrance. Sidling into the building, he glanced around nervously at the foot of the stairs. He didn't want any other muggles looking oddly at him, as they had inevitably done when he knocked down the old man carrying his shopping, which, unfortunately, happened to include groceries, pills for rheumatism, and an old Bavarian clock. No one seemed to be around to notice him enter. Ron scanned his memory for the flat number as he began up the stairs and observed the place. It was nice, an upscale place, and, apparently, very private. He snorted at the thought of what a famous Quidditch player's flat would look like- perhaps a gigantic loft, or a penthouse suite. He passed the first floor and kept on going up- he remembered that it was on the fourth floor, and definitely had a seven somewhere in the address- noting that the doors he passed didn't seem like anything too special. Nice, perhaps, but not fancy. He decided at once that he liked the building, though he was bound and determined to find something to keep him irritable. After all, he couldn't seem too genial to Viktor, particularly after his lengthy bout of one-sided enmity towards him. After passing the second and third floors and coming to a fourth landing, this one no different than the others, he started walking along, looking for the door with- there it was, flat seventeen.

The door was maple, identical to the others, with the brass numbers fixed at about eye level. Ron uncertainly lifted a fist and knocked once or twice directly below the numbers. After a moment of waiting, he heard nothing from the inside, and no one seemed to be approaching the door. Ron knocked again. Still no answer, and no sound issuing from within. Furrowing his brow, he knocked again, this time much louder. The landing was still silent, and, apparently, so was the flat. "Alright, that's it..." Ron grumbled. He was sure he had the right flat number, and it never crossed his mind that someone may be offended if he didn't. He seized the doorknob and turned it. He would have been surprised to find that it was unlocked had he not been so bent on being annoyed with Krum. He pushed the door and fairly breezed in, letting the door swing shut behind him. He stormed halfway across the living room and to the entrance of a narrow hall, the sunlight pouring in through an enormous window in the nearby kitchen, setting his hair aflame with light. "Hey, Krum!" Ron called into the depths of the apartment. "Thanks so much for answering your door, because I'm really used to barging into people's flat's like that."

He heard a clattering, and, stumbling out of one of the rooms in the hallway was Viktor himself. He was fully dressed, and had apparently had been in the middle of washing his face, for he was wiping it with a towel. His eyes widened in surprise as he looked closer at Ron in what appeared to be disbelief. "It is... it is Ron?" Viktor asked, finally finding his voice and walking forward a bit. This annoyed Ron. He crossed his arms.

"Yes, it's Ron. Now, come on, aren't you going home or something? Hurry it up." Ron snapped, gesturing wildly with one hand. For some reason, the Quidditch player's sudden appearance irritated him more than his absence. Viktor, surprising Ron, broke into a smile. Suddenly stepping forward and tossing the towel aside, taking Ron completely off guard, Viktor embraced him, his wiry physique's strength quite evident. Blanching, Ron could only stand uncertainly as Krum's arms wrapped tightly around his back. He smelled like sandalwood, or something earthy like that, sharply contrasting with and somehow complimenting Ron's clean-laundry like smell.

"Hermione did not tell me that you would be coming!" Viktor exclaimed happily, letting go at last. His face was the picture of happiness. Ron looked down and gave a nervous cough, more taken aback by Krum's friendliness than anything else. He had always thought the guy hated him.

"Yeah, well... she had some, some thing to do. Some elf thing," He said uncertainly, looking back up for a moment. Viktor nodded, as if he knew what Ron meant.

"Yes, vell, she is very dedicated to her elves." He said understandingly, and their eyes met, their heights seeming to even out for a moment. That, by far, was what scared Ron the most, this unusual feeling of being on the same level of understanding with this person who had seemed so far away before, this meeting of points of view. It was quite unfamiliar. Ron just nodded shortly and shifted his gaze, breaking any connection that might have been made.

The two just stood for a moment in the blazing light of the window, which threw the rest of the flat into shadow, silence settling over the place like dust motes on the walls. It was a dusty peace, an unusual quiet, something that Ron didn't yet know if he liked or not. Then, realizing that he was actually not being testy at Krum, like he had planned, he snapped to attention. Or tried to.

"So, er, aren't you going... home, or something? Apparating?" He had come, he had told Krum where Hermione was, and he was about to make sure he left. Then his job would be done, he could go home and have a blissful afternoon of sleep.

Krum nodded, then indescision crossed his face and shook his head. He abruptly turned tried to casually walk into his kitchen, stopping at his stove with his back to Ron. "Vould you like a cup of tea?" He asked, not turning around. Ron furrowed his brow.

"Er, aren't you supposed to just... Apparate home now?" This was getting awkward. Ron didn't like it.

* * *

This was getting awkward. Viktor didn't like it. From his place at the stove, resting his hand on the teapot handle, he tried to think of something to say, some excuse to make. He couldn't very well say, "Actually, I'm not going home until next week, this is a ploy to get a date." He couldn't say something about being expected later, either... but he _could_ blame it all on Hermione. Quickly, eyes raised to the ceiling as if in prayer, he asked his conscience for forgiveness as he spoke. "Vell, I had planned on having tea with Hermione. I'm not expected home until later. Vould you like to take her place?" Here he turned around, turning on his charm as he did so. Viktor couldn't lie very easily, but at least he could do it adequately. At Ron's confused silence, he added, "I'm sure ve have a lot to catch up on, anyvay," and smiled.

* * *

Sure, Viktor Krum was round shouldered, sure he was duck footed, but he was, altogether, a very handsome man. His frame was slim and strong, his hair was admirably groomed, and his face was sharp and beautiful to look at, reminiscent of the subjects of ancient greek art, with his high cheekbones and prow of a nose. But all of that just seemed inadequate when he smiled. Ron, transfixed, nodded and stepped forward to the counter. Viktor grabbed two teacups out of a cupboard and set them down in front of Ron, then turned to grab the teapot again. He poured them two cups of tea, looking up at Ron as he did so. Ron just stared at his mug, his face already red from the awkwardness of the situation. "How has your job been?" Viktor asked as he pushed Ron's mug toward him and picked up his own, making an attempt at casual conversation. Ron looked up, somewhat surprised.

"Er, good. Really good," was all he could say. Viktor seemed to be waiting, so he tacked on, "How about you? Quidditch and all?"

Viktor gave a wry smile. "Vell, I must say that ve are doing much vorse than last season, but I cannot complain. The games haff been good." He shrugged, still smiling.

Ron nodded, wrapping his hands around the mug and looking up. "Yeah, shame you lost to Wimbourne." Shame? _Shame_? He was actually saying it was a _shame_ that Bulgaria had lost to an English team? He didn't know what made him say it, though he did know that Viktor's eyes had an unusually transfixing quality that made him reluctant to look away...

"Yes." Agreed Viktor, noting Ron's stare and returning it. And then there was a pacific silence in which it was understood that they each had their own thoughts for the moment. The two truly made quite a sight, one on either side of the kitchen counter- Viktor leaning casually, Ron shifting his weight awkwardly, gazes locked on the other and both wondering what to do next as the sun from the window brightly silhouetted their distinctly opposing profiles.

* * *

Ron's eyes were blue, but they had a kind of grey quality to them, something that made them look like storm-tossed waters; intense, mystifying, almost, yet so easy to read emotions in. Before Viktor knew what he was doing, he was leaning in, drawn by the gaze, wondering...

* * *

It was true, they had transfixed Ron at first, but now Viktor's eyes were pulling him in. Grey, stony, knowing... leaning forward, he was surprised to be met with the feeling of...

* * *

"Ow!" They both jerked back abruptly, Viktor grasping the bridge of his nose, Ron doing the same.

"What was that for?"

"Vhat vas vhat for?"

"That!"

"Vhat?"

"...That!"

"I'm afraid there has been a... misunderstanding."

"What? No there hasn't! Were you going to kiss me or not?"

"Oh... vell, then, perhaps there hasn't."

**Epilogue**

"Well...?" Hermione asked, sounding giddy, as she fairly flew out of the Underground entrance to where Ron stood, hands in his pockets and shades over his eyes. Ron stared at her blankly for a moment and then began to walk, seemingly testy. "What happened?" Her voice was playful and she was smiling as she walked along rapidly, trying to keep up with his long strides. "Slow down and tell me!" She exclaimed, grabbing his sleeve and steering him into some streetside open air cafe, seating them abruptly at a small table.

She leaned on her elbows, beaming with excitement. "Well... what happened?" She sounded delighted, Ron noted. He stared at her for a few moments, before bursting out with,

"What do you think happened!" He snapped. Hermione just raised her eyebrows, as if still asking. Ron glared at her in disbelief. "He snogged me senseless, that's what happened!" Hermioned commenced to giggle, raising both hands to her mouth in mirth. Ron glowered, though he almost wanted to laugh, himself.

After regaining some composure, Hermione grinned at him again. "What did he tell you?"

Ron stared at her for a moment. "How was your convention?" He asked flatly. Hermione laughed again.

"Oh, you'll hear all about it tonight at the flat, but I do want to know what he told you."

"About your involvement in this?"

"Yes. What did he say?"

"That he had 'expressed his interest to you.' " Ron deadpanned, mocking Viktor's accent.

"And he did." She paused. "So, are you two together yet?" She asked bluntly, seeming interested. Ron reddened considerably and looked down.

"Er..."

"I have a feeling, Ronald," Hermione said slowly, eye stwinkling with merriment, "that I'm going to have to arrange to go to another of these conventions."

"How's Thursday evening?"


End file.
